


Playing with Fire

by Fyre



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-27
Updated: 2013-04-27
Packaged: 2017-12-09 15:22:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/775749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you play with fire, no matter how careful you are, you'll get burned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Playing with Fire

Rumpelstiltskin was shaking. From rage. From shock. From grief.

The man was unconscious. That was what stayed his hand. In another time and place, he would have killed the bastard, but now, in Storybrooke, with Emma Swan as a terrier for justice, he couldn’t go leaving bloodied corpses, and she wouldn’t deal well with magic, and murder…

Murder was not a good first impression, he remembered.

He took a step back, breathing hard.

“You done?”

She sounded so like Belle that it hurt, but she wasn’t Belle. She couldn’t be Belle, not when she stood by and laughed.

He turned his cane in his hand to lean on it. “I think so, don’t you, dearie?” he murmured. The blood was sticky on his palm, and he looked down at the man who had been the Sheriff of Nottingham.

He shivered when Lacey - not Belle, never Belle again - slid her arm through his, her hand brushing down to cover his hand on the cane. She dragged her fingers across the bloody spatters on his skin, drawing circles on his flesh.

“We should get you cleaned up,” she said. Her voice was lower, huskier.

Rumpelstiltskin looked at her, and she was looking at him, with a dark, hungry look that he’d never seen on her face before. “Is that right?” he asked. He didn’t sound like himself. He was growling like an animal.

She pressed herself against his arm. “Mm.” Her face was so close to his that he could almost feel the warmth of her skin. “My place is nearby.”

He gazed at her. There were many masks that he had adopted over the years, but never one quite like this. “I could be dangerous,” he murmured, watching the way her lips parted and her breath caught. “I might hurt you too.”

He could see the gleam of her teeth between her lips. “You wouldn’t hurt me,” she whispered as her lips grazed his. “Mr Nice Guy for me, remember.” She caught his lower lip between her teeth and tugged. “Don’t need to treat me like china, Gold. I can take whatever you got.”

His breath was coming fast, and his lips drew back from his teeth. “You play with fire, dearie.”

She squeezed his bloodied hand with her own. “Burn me.”

His cane fell away and he pulled her round into his embrace. The kisses were almost violent in their intensity, and she groaned and squirmed against him, her fingers sinking into his hair. She dragged him sideways with her, until she was sitting against the hood of the car, and she pulled back from the kiss, her face flushed and her eyes gleaming.

“Here?” she challenged, lowering one hand to drag her skirt up, her legs parting in invitation.

The Gold she wanted had to be demanding, take no prisoners, show no mercy, and Rumpelstiltskin could play. He had played for years and her could do it again. He thrust his hand between her splayed thighs, and his heart stuttered. No underwear. Only warm, damp curls and slick flesh. He braced his right hand on the hood of the car beside her. If his other hand shook, he could force it to steadiness, and he saw the flash of her teeth again as he slid his fingers against her skin.

“Shameless little thing, aren’t you?” he said, watching the way she leaned back on her elbows against the hood, the way her eyes closed for a moment, then way her lips parted. He’d seen it a thousand times, but never like this. She wasn’t Belle. She wasn’t, and yet…

He thrust two fingers hard inside her and ground his palm against her clit, and she bucked like he had electrified her. 

“Oh, yeah…” she groaned, pushing against his hand, and he wanted to weep.

“What do you want?” he asked hoarsely. He didn’t care what context. He didn’t care what she took from it. He had to ask, because if he didn’t, if he took advantage, if he ravished the woman who was living in Belle’s body…

Her hips rolled against his hand. “Just keep doing what you’re doing,” she purred, reaching up and grabbing his tie, pulling him down over her. He stumbled closer, trapped between her thighs, and she wanted him, as he was now, not some gentle, meek little lamb, and he could never deny her when she asked him anything, never.

Her heels scraped against the bumpers, as she lifted her hips towards him, and one of her arms was around his neck, pulling him down, and they were kissing against and he could taste the tang of blood on their lips.

Her breaths were short and stuttered with every thrust and press of his palm and it could have been enough. He could have pleased her and let her go, if she hadn’t coiled a slim thigh over his hip and dragged the heel of her shoe up the back of his thigh. 

He broke away from the kiss, panting and staring down at her. “Lacey…” He withdrew his hand from her, bracing it on her thigh, trying to find the strength to pull back. 

Her dress was hiked up over her hips, and his fingers were wet, shining against her skin. She watched him, then reached down and caught the hand that had been buried so snugly between her thighs, lifting it to her lips. She closed her eyes as she sucked on his fingers, and Rumpelstiltskin groaned low in his throat. Her other leg moved, and he was snared, and all that was between them was the fabric of his pants.

She pressed herself against him and opened her eyes just enough for him to see a sliver of gleaming blue. “Fuck me,” she breathed against his palm, rubbing her cheek against the fingers that had been buried in her moments ago. “That’s what I want.”

He was a bad man. A weak man. And gods, he loved her too much to walk away.

He fumbled with his belt, his pants, but she was more than willing to help. Much more. Her hand wrapped around him, and he felt like every bit of blood in him throbbed right there. It was wrong and it wasn’t Belle, but she was… was as much as she wasn’t, and she tasted like her and smelled like her and made the same hungry sounds as her. 

Lacey looked pleased with herself, so very pleased, and moved her hand, once, twice, slowly, slowly, her eyes gleaming, her lower lip caught between her teeth. “So this is what you were hiding, huh, Gold?”

Rumpelstiltskin would have let her lead. He would have followed. But she wanted Gold, and Gold didn’t let anyone take the lead, and if he didn’t give her what she wanted, why would she stay?

He grabbed her wrist, dragging her hand off him, and slammed her back down against the hood of the car, pinning her wrist over her head. Her other hand was still caught in his hair, and he saw the way her smile brightened, greedy, eager.

“No more hiding,” he growled, holding her hip with one hand, her wrist with the other, and slamming his cock into her as hard as he could.

She tightened her arm around his shoulder, stifling a cry with his mouth. Her teeth gnashed at his lips, and her thighs squeezed his so hard he groaned. The ground was wet, and he couldn’t gain purchase, but she had him, she held him close, and he wouldn’t fall, because she wouldn’t let him go.

“God, yeah,” she growled against his lips, her hips bucking demandingly against him.

Masks and games and all else that made him, he could maintain them anywhere else, but here… here was a new battleground, with the woman he loved, but not. He hid his face in her throat, trailing gentle bites there, and thrusting over and over and over.

For all that he wanted her, it wasn’t the her that squirmed and groaned and panted and clawed at him. She wasn’t Belle anymore than Belle was Lacey, but she was and she wanted him, and anything she wanted, he would give her.

It felt like going through the motions, and he let his hand return to help her finish. She didn’t scream, but that was only because she bit down on her fingers and muffled a litany of colourful curses, as she shuddered beneath him as she came.

He braced both his hands on the hood of the car, panting, and watching her. His face was shadowed, he knew, the streetlamp behind him, so she couldn’t see his expression, and that was a good thing.

She was sprawled back on the hood of the car, skirt up over her belly, thighs splayed, flushed and damp, and her arms stretched over her head in a gesture of feline satisfaction. “Mm.”

“Your place is nearby?” he said.

There was the flash of the smile again. “Easy, tiger,” she said, pushing herself up. She didn’t cover herself, or even blush, as she slid down the hood, her body rubbing against his until she landed lightly on her feet. She reached down and tucked him back into his trousers, though her fingers lingered. “Didn’t say you were coming home for the night.”

He caught a breath as she lifted her hand and sucked cum off her fingertips.

“I wasn’t asking,” he said.

Her eyes gleamed. “Not tonight,” she said, rising on her toes and nipping at his lower lip with her teeth. “I got what I wanted.”

“Tomorrow?” he said.

She cupped him through his pants and squeezed. “Let me surprise you.”

“No question of that,” he said quietly.

She took it as a compliment, laughing, as she smoothed her dress down. She skipped over the body at their feet. “You got a mess to tidy up,” she said, looking over her shoulder at him. 

Rumplestiltskin looked down at the man. “The trash can stay in the gutter,” he said.

He heard her laugh again. “You’re full of surprises, Gold,” she said, stretching her arms above her head. She looked him up and down. “Don’t lock your door.”

Rumplestiltskin swallowed hard, watching her saunter away, her heels clicking on the sidewalk. He looked down at the Sheriff. The man would die of exposure and questions would be asked. Or he could finish him. 

Rumpelstiltskin leaned heavily against the car. 

Belle was still in there, somewhere. She had to be. If she wanted him to hurt people, he would, if it meant she would smile at him and touch him, but there was Bae. There were too many variables.

A gesture gave the man back his tongue, another mended the worst of the damage. Not all, but enough, and a third deposited him at the town line. Maybe his persona in Storybrooke would be less of a bastard than the Sheriff had been. 

Rumpelstiltskin pushed himself away from the car. His legs were trembling so much he could barely hold himself upright. He knew how to play a part. His whole life, from the minute he lost Bae, as a part. Now, though, he had to be something else entirely. 

Now, he had to be loved by Lacey.


End file.
